


tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow (creeps in this petty pace from day to day)

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [42]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, American Politics, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, President Hamilton, The original Founding Fathers meet their reincarnations, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10054280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: "Can we talk about how you apparently opened up an interdimensional portal?” Alexander suggested. “Because I feel like we need to address that at some point.”There's normal, and then there'sworking at the White Housenormal. This goes way beyond either kind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write the _(don't) call me son 'verse_. Then time travel happened, and oops.

_Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
"You must not oppress a foreigner, since you know the life of a foreigner, for you (1/2)

 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
were foreigners in the land of Egypt." (Exodus 23:9) The ball's in your court, Republicans. (2/2)

* * *

“May I see some ID, ma'am?”

“I didn't do anything _wrong_.”

“May I see some ID?” Peggy repeated impatiently.

Sigh. “ _Fine_ ,” the woman said dramatically. “Who are you, anyway?”

“FBI,” Peggy said curtly.

The woman groaned. “Seriously? I didn't even _do_ anything. I'm just a journalist for the New York Post.”

“Yes, I can see that, Miss Lawrence,” Peggy cut her off, then paused. She squinted at the ID card. “ _Lawrence_? You wouldn't happen to have a brother named John, would you?” she frowned.

Lawrence sighed. “Yes, I do,” she replied vaguely. “Do you know him?”

“Yes, I'm an old friend,” Peggy said cryptically. “He never mentioned that he had a sister.”

Lawrence bit her lip. “That's because we don't talk too much these days, my brother and I. We're a little estranged – mostly my fault, since I kind of ran away from home when I was sixteen.”

“Oh,” Peggy couldn't think of anything else to say, so she turned back to the subject at hand. “Well, Miss Lawrence, I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me.”

“Why?” Lawrence whined. “I'm a _journalist_. An innocent bystander. It wasn't exactly _my_ fault this random guy just decided to start going at people with a knife.”

“No,” Peggy conceded, “but you're a murder witness now. _Ma'am_.”

“Fuck off,” Lawrence said succinctly.

“Kinky,” Peggy smirked, wagging her eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe after we take your statement,” Her face then sobered up. “Seriously though, Maria Lawrence, if you don't come in, I can have you charged with obstructing justice.”

Lawrence pouted. “That's not the way to talk to your potential date, Miss Agent.”

“You haven't yet done anything to _merit_ a date.”

“Is that a challenge?” Lawrence raised an eyebrow, daring Peggy to continue.

Peggy pretended to think. “Only if you agree to follow me to the station.”

Lawrence grinned. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Agent. Very well, I shall acquiesce with your request.”

“'Acquiesce'?” Peggy raised an eyebrow. “How very archaic of you.”

“Says the person using the word ''archaic',” Lawrence shot back. She paused for a second. “It's just that… I used to know a person who used to use these kinds of words.”

Peggy nodded. “I totally understand. One of my, let's say friends, more or less personifies loquaciousness,” she took a look at the clock and swore. “We need to get going.”

* * *

“Now,” Stephen laughed, “since we are not allowed to do the entire interview in Quenya – I did look into that, actually, but apparently nobody else speaks it, and they don't trust us with the subtitles – I'm afraid it's going to be disappointingly in English.”

“A waste, really,” Alexander picked up the thread, “seeing as how we're both part of a small Quenya-speaking elite. Do you speak Sindarin as well, by the way?” he inquired.

Stephen smirked. “Indeed I do, Mr President. I've heard that you don't, but since I don't have an entire country to run, I suppose I cannot fault you for not having the time to learn,” he teased.

Alexander grinned. “I think, given enough motivation, I could learn it as well. I mean, I've taught myself Klingonese back in college–“

“You were a triple major, weren't you?” Stephen asked, his eyes narrowed in a comical way.

Alexander shrugged. “What can I say? I multitask.”

“That you do, Mr President, that you do,” Stephen nodded in understanding. He then turned to face the camera. “As I was saying before…”

* * *

_Chat: Hamilsquad2k15_  
_TreaSec_ : we need to revamp the currency  
_WarSec_ : why  
_POTUS_ : because jackson is on the twenty  
_PressSec_ : you have a weird vendetta against andrew jackson  
_POTUS_ : yes because he intruded on Indian land and banished them from their homes and murdered millions of them in the process  
_POTUS_ : sorry if I'm a bit angry  
_TreaSec_ : I'm posting a poll on twitter  
_VPOTUS_ : Do not post a poll on Twitter.  
_TreaSec_ : watch me

* * *

_Allison Drawwoo_ d @InARichMansWorld  
Poll: Who should feature on the new twenty-dollar bill? whitehouse.gov/treasury/polls/2017-02-12/twenty_dollar_bill_repl.html  
_5 903 211 reblogs_

* * *

_Chat: people who have slept with alexander hamilton_  
_john:_ maybe a bit dickish, but should we add maria reynolds  
_lafayette_ : have you met her???  
_john:_ yeah, it's complicated  
_john_ : but suffice to say, she's the bf of thomas' new client sally hemings  
_eliza_ : sally hemings as in thomas jefferson's mistress?  
_john_ : she doesn't like to be remembered that way  
_john_ : it'd be like saying that your entire legacy is being a.ham's wife  
_john_ : which erases all the amazing stuff you've done after our beloved asshole went aND DIED  
_john_ : anyway, she came to our house  
_john_ : apparently she's thomas' new client  
_john_ : guess what case  
_john_ : (she gave me permission to share, btw)  
_john_ : divorce after numerous unwanted advances  
_eliza_ : oh my  
_lafayette_ : send thomas my love  
_lafayette_ : and also kick his ass bc it is his own damn fault  
_lafayette_ : don't get me wrong, je l'adore  
_lafayette_ : but everyone and their blind mother can see that he has Issues just like alex  
_john:_ what a way to be a supportive spouse  
_lafayette_ : you were literally the same  
_lafayette_ : do not bother denying I can remember valley forge JUST FINE  
_john_ : I wasn't his spouse tho  
_lafayette_ : you might as well have been  
_eliza_ : girls, you're both pretty, but back to the matter at hand  
_eliza_ : maria reynolds, y or n  
_john_ : I'm going w/ yes bc reasons  
_john_ : not but seriously I like her and she seems to be over it  
_lafayette_ : I would like to get to know her  
_eliza_ : . . . I'm taking that as a yes  
_john has added Maria Lawrence to the chat_  
_Maria Lawrence_ : hey bro  
_lafayette_ : I see what you meant by complicated  
_Maria Lawrence:_ this is the lowercase kind of chat isn't it  
_Maria Lawrence has changed their name to maria_  
_maria_ : so what's this  
_eliza_ : john, you may have forgotten to mention that maria reynolds is YOUR SISTER  
_maria_ : nvm I just read the name  
_maria_ : so you're eliza  
_eliza_ : JOHN LAWRENCE  
_lafayette_ : don't mind eliza  
_eliza_ : I WILL FIND YOU  
_lafayette:_ she doesn't like surprises much these days  
_eliza_ : AND I WILL SKIN YOU  
_maria_ : not to be a buzzkill, but aren't you supposed to be in britain meeting with their pm  
_lafayette_ : yeah but time difference  
_maria_ : followup question  
_maria_ : why are you awake at 2am  
_lafayette_ : I may be an adult but nobody ever claimed I was a responsible one  
_john_ : truer words have never been written  
_maria_ : by the way, brother dearest, you never mentioned you were john laurens  
_john_ : well you never mentioned you were maria reynolds  
_john_ : besides, I didn't know  
_maria_ : really??  
_john_ : how long have YOU known?  
_maria_ : since I was sixteen  
_john_ : so since you ran away  
_lafayette_ : I feel like I'm intruding  
_maria:_ yeah pretty much  
_lafayette_ : this is uncomfortable  
_maria:_ that's kind of WHY I ran away  
_john_ : that makes zero sense  
_eliza_ : I see what you mean, don't get me wrong I still want to wring john's neck but also family matters are Awkward so  
_eliza left the chat_  
_lafayette left the chat_  
john: well that was fast  
_maria_ : you owe me ten bucks  
_john_ : I owe you an alexander  
_maria_ : no offense but I don't swing that way these days  
_john_ : so was THAT the real reason you left?  
_john_ : bc I know you were lying earlier  
_john_ : you wouldn't leave just bc of your past life  
_maria_ : . . . . . weeeeeell funny story actually  
_john_ : let me get this straight: I'm sleeping with your bf's former owner  
_maria_ : no part of this is straight  
_john_ : very funny  
_john_ : my partner is my sister's partner's lawyer  
_maria_ : platonic partner  
_maria_ : I just got a date with an fbi agent  
_john_ : good for you and also completely off-topic

* * *

“Found an adorable article on BuzzFeed,” Alexander, the troll that he was, snickered. “Listen to this. 'Take Five Minutes To Read This Letter From Thomas Jefferson to James Madison'.”

“Awwww,” Angelica smirked in James' direction. James, for his part, put his head in his hands, a groan being his only verbal response.

“I cannot believe that we are in charge of an entire nation,” Schmidt addressed the empty air in front of him.

* * *

For once, the whole affair wasn't Alexander's fault – even Aaron admitted that. This one was all on Aaron, and his penchant for Accidents with a capital A – such as stumbling and spilling the entire pot of spaghetti sauce on himself, or stapling together his thumb with his index finger, or accidentally pouring an entire salt shaker into his morning coffee (which Did Not Happen, no matter what Alexander claimed).

If one thought about it though, it wasn't entirely Aaron's fault either. Aaron had never put much stock in the idea of magic. Sure, reincarnation was one thing – he was the living proof of that – but _magic_ –? It would completely redefine and rewrite even the most basic laws of physics (already under attack by the recent discovery – as the logical consequence of reincarnation being a scientifically confirmed phenomenon – that people had souls, made up of hitherto unknown matter). Magic would be a breaking point for the modern understanding of the world.

There was no way for Aaron to know that cursing profusely in Latin after having walked into a door that he was beyond certain hadn't been there the day before would create an interdimensional portal in said doorway. This wasn't the sort of information one could find in textbooks, although Aaron vowed that, should he survive this with his sanity intact, he would rectify that. 'Chapter Thirteen: Crazy Shit That Randomly Happens And How To Deal With It' – yes, that would be a fitting ending to a twelve-grader's physics textbook. It would certainly be more useful than the quantum physics featured in chapter four (for everyone but astrophysicist aspirants, that is).

Aaron barely had time to flinch, taking a step back – an automatic reflex to all things bizarre that he acquired after working with Alexander for an extended period of time – before figures tumbled out of the doorway with all the grace of an elephant in a porcelain store. The portal closed up as quickly as it had opened.

A sound behind him alerted Aaron to the fact that Alexander had decided to investigate the noises. He slid up to Aaron's side. “What's going on?” he asked softly.

Aaron continued to stare at the people, because _fuck_. “I have no idea,” he confessed, and didn't _that_ hurt, being left out again (though, judging from Alexander's expression, he wasn't the only one struggling to come to terms with a cerulean portal in the middle of what was supposed to be one of the most secure buildings in the country).

The figures in front of them straightened their posture, and the closest to them stepped forward. “What is the meaning of this?” the redhead demanded, hazel-blue eyes flashing with anger.

“Good question,” Alexander, ever the quick thinker, replied; Aaron could already see him trying to wrap his head around the new situation, adjusting his thought patterns to account for the new variables. “Alas, not one I know the answer to. I believe the better question is: who are you?”

The redhead smoothed out his silver jacket. “My name is Thomas Jefferson, and I am the Secr–“

“I can count on one hand the number of people who care to listen to you, Jefferson,” a shorter man cut him off brusquely, striding forward until he stood in front of Jefferson. He held out a hand for Aaron to shake. “I am Alexander Hamilton, Treasury Secretary. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear sir. If I may inquire, where exactly are we?”

Aaron blinked down at the proffered hand. Alexander rolled his eyes and shook Hamilton's hand. Aaron caught Alexander smothering a grin, and bit back a groan; _of course_ Alexander would enjoy a moment like this. “My name is Alexander Hampton, and I am the President of the United States of America. The question of your location is an easy one: you are at the White House. The matter of time, however, is more tricky to answer. You seem to have been transported over two-hundred years into the future,” This time, Alexander didn't bother to hide his grin. “The year is 2017.”

Behind Hamilton, a man Aaron was almost certain was George Washington blinked. Hamilton, never one to be deterred by surprises, went on. “That sounds preposterous – I might even go as far as to claim impossible – therefore I'm afraid that I must ask – nay, _demand_ – that you provide proof to support your claims.”

Alexander shrugged. “That's an easy one. Look behind you. Whom do you see?”

Hamilton turned around. He froze, his lips forming a word but his brain preventing him from speaking.

Lafayette reacted in Hamilton's stead. He threw his arms around Laurens, embracing him for all his worth. “Dear Laurens!” he exclaimed. “We missed you!”

“But– I–“ Laurens paused and looked around the room. His eyes rested on Hamilton, a clear question in his gaze.

“You were dead,” Hamilton murmured quietly, but his voice still carried around the room. “You _died_ , Laurens.”

Laurens blinked. “I did?” he looked down at himself. “I don't _feel_ dead.”

Alexander snorted at that; once again, all eyes focused on the two of them, although Hamilton kept sneaking glances at Laurens when he thought no-one noticed.

“I do not see what is so funny about this situation,” this time, it was Madison's turn to speak – James Madison, in all his 5'4 black-clad glory, whose shortness was surpassed only by James Morrow. Adorable was the word that came to mind.

Alexander waved his hand. “No, it's just that–“ he broke down in giggles, prompting the newcomers to give him odd looks. He eventually mustered enough somberness to go on. “It's just that it's obvious that you are from different years, even within your group, so the fact that you don't feel dead doesn't mean that you aren't dead to other members of the group,” His eyes skimmed the group only to finally rest on Eliza Hamilton. His gaze softened. “You're from even later, aren't you?” he asked her.

Mrs Hamilton started. “What do you mean, sir?” she spoke. Hamilton turned to face her at last. He frowned at her, his mind no doubt working at full speed to figure out what was wrong with the image in front of him.

Alexander tilted his head as he spoke. “You look older, at least fifteen years older than your husband. Estimating Hamilton being from somewhere around 1793–“

“1792, in the interest of accuracy,” Hamilton interrupted him.

“–that puts you around 1808, which your attire confirms,” Alexander finished.

“My attire?” Mrs Hamilton looked down, confused.

Before Aaron could prevent him from running his mouth off, Alexander clarified. “A widow's attire.” Aaron closed his eyes, resisting the urge to slam his head against the wall. Alexander paused, wincing. “I should not have said that,” he murmured.

“No, not really,” Aaron agreed.

Meanwhile, Hamilton was looking at his wife in bemusement. “A widow?” he repeated. “Does that mean that I–“

“Do not finish that sentence, son,” Washington spoke for the first time. “I do not wish to hear it.”

“With all due respect, sir, _I_ do,” Hamilton showed a sign of his usual stubbornness. "And we are not biologically related, _sir_."

Aaron tore his eyes away from the admittedly amusing sight of the three-way argument between George Washington and two incarnations of Alexander Hamilton, and instead focused on a figure in the far back.

Aaron Burr. Husband, father, senator, vice president, murderer.

The man was clearly trying to keep a distance between himself and the rest of his contemporaries in an effort to make himself invisible, although if the looks Angelica Schuyler Church was shooting at him were anything to go by, he wasn't very successful. This was a man who looked tired, physically as well as psychologically. This was a man wearied by life and all that it threw at him, all that it gave him only to tear it from him the next moment. This was a man who was overwhelmed by the memories of one fateful morning at Weekhawken.

This was the man Aaron had once been. A man who waited his entire life for his life to begin, only to realize that waiting was the last thing he should have done.

Was it worth the wait? _Aaron sometimes asked himself, in his office late at night, when most people had already left and Alexander and Lafayette had retired to the West Wing._

No. It wasn't. It never was. _What had he been waiting for? It felt like ages ago – it was ages ago._

Not for this man. For this man, it was but a few years (months?) ago.

“Alexander,” Aaron finally cut Alexander off mid-rant, “I suggest that we move this discussion somewhere private.”

“That's a good idea,” Alexander admitted. “We're going to move to the West Wing. Can you call Angelica? She'll know what to do. And maybe Schmidt? I'm going to text Jemmy and Drawwood and tell them to come when they're done for the night.”

Aaron briefly entertained the notion of swapping places with Drawwood. Defending a controversial financial plan to a roomful of vindictive senators suddenly felt worlds easier than having to face his past. He didn't say that out loud. “Okay,” he replied. To the group – who, now that Aaron took a moment to look at them, were hilariously out of place in the modern times, with their clothing and speech patterns and white wigs and _powdered hair,_ _Jesus Christ_ – he said, “Follow me.”

To his eternal surprise, they did, even though he could see Jefferson mumble something to Madison about how he would never obey someone inferior to him, to which Madison did not react. It seemed that even Mr Almighty fell in line when he was as out of his depth as he was at the moment.

* * *

When they settled in at the West Wing, Alexander shot off a couple of quick texts to James and Drawwood, one that all but ordered them to return to the White House at the end of the session, and another with a long list of fast foods they needed to pick up on the way to the White House.

Hamilton spoke first. “It seems that you have us at a disadvantage. You know who we are, but we have not a clue as to your identities.”

“I've already introduced myself,” Alexander said, looking at Aaron. “Do you want to tell them who you are, or should I?”

“We should probably begin with the whole reincarnation thing,” Aaron counseled Alexander.

Alexander considered this. “Yeah, you're right,” he turned to face his guests. “What do you know about reincarnation?” he asked bluntly.

“Not much,” Washington admitted. “Only that some people are rumoured to have an ancient soul, only reborn in a new body.”

“That's pretty much what we know, too,” Alexander shrugged. “The point is that we,” he pointed at himself and Aaron, “are reincarnates. Of _you_ ,” he elaborated when nobody asked follow-up questions. “I used to be Alexander Hamilton,” he gestured at Hamilton, who kept turning the phone Aaron had given him upside down, peering at it in a fashion that reminded Aaron of the time they both had to consult on a case involving alligators.

Jefferson arched an eyebrow. “And _you_ are the _president_?” he asked in a condescending tone.

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Yes, I am the president. Yes, I have been elected fairly, and no, I have not murdered anyone to get this position. Your reincarnation has already asked me those exact questions.”

“My reincarnation?” Jefferson frowned.

Alexander grinned a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, you have been reincarnated. And guess what?” he waited a beat. “You're black.”

Jefferson had a reply at the tip of his tongue, but was cut off by the door opening. Angelica entered the room, and Aaron could honestly admit that he had never been so thankful to see her, despite the fact that he was about eighty percent certain that she hated his guts.

“What's going–“ Angelica began, then took a look around the room. Her eyes stopped on Mrs Hamilton. “I see,” she said at length, then went on. “No, actually, I _don't_ see,” she sat down on the couch. “How the hell did you manage to drag ten people across two-hundred years?”

“I love how you don't even assume that they're actors,” Alexander deadpanned.

Angelica snorted. “One: Burr wouldn't have called me if they were just actors. Two: considering the frequency of weird shit happening in Alexander's vicinity, it's statistically more likely probable that you found the original Founding Fathers,” she muttered something else under her breath; Alexander couldn't quite make out what she said.

The door opened again, this time admitting Schmidt, who took a seat in an abandoned armchair a little ways away from the group, incidentally next to Burr.

Hamilton took advantage of the commotion to stalk up to Alexander. The two stared at one another. “You do not resemble me in the slightest,” Hamilton finally declared his verdict.

Alexander scoffed. “That's the point of reincarnation,” he responded. “To get a second chance, a different life.”

“Much good it did you,” Schmidt snorted derisively.

“How is it to be president?” Hamilton went on. “Will I get to be president?”

“Overwhelming at times, no, and yes,” Alexander rattled off the responses.

Hamilton frowned. “I only asked two questions.”

“The second question has two responses,” Alexander retorted. “Not in your lifetime, but seeing as I am you, in a sense, you will be president in you next lifetime – provided that you don't screw it up.”

Aaron groaned. “Clearly, 'succinct' has no meaning to you, does it?” he asked rhetorically. “Has it occurred to you that maybe, just _maybe_ , revealing everything from the future might affect the past? _Our_ past?” he emphasized.

Alexander grinned. “As a matter of fact, I don't think it _is_ our past,” he contended.

Church frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked when it became clear that nobody else was going to ask for clarification, probably not willing to be ridiculed for not understanding Alexander's ways of thinking. Typical _men_.

“I'm glad you asked!” Alexander snapped his fingers. “See, if you _had_ come from the past, then surely we would have remembered it. Since we don't remember anything like this – at least I don't – you either aren't from our past, or our memories have been erased, as yours will be. Now, I'll admit that we _do_ have chemicals that can wipe a person's short-term memory, but that would still leave a gaping hole in one's memories. I, for one, do not have any such holes, especially not from 1792, and we don't currently have any substance that can fill these memory holes with false memories. Even if we did, though, you being from our past would have been impossible form a scientific point of view, because, to create false memories for you, we would have used our memories of that period of time, but in that case, there has to have been a person who did that to _us_ , too, and to the people before us, and so on until we arrive at the very first people who traveled into the future. What memories would _they_ have created the first false memories from? It creates a paradox,” Alexander shrugged.

“You lost me,” Washington admitted.

“I believe that I understand,” Hamilton spoke up.

“I sincerely hope you do. We think very similarly, after all,” his reincarnation quirked an eyebrow.

“I would like to return to the part of the conversation where you claimed that my reincarnation is a slave,” Jefferson said loudly.

“Not a slave,” Schmidt corrected him before Alexander could go off on another anti-Jefferson rant. “Slavery's been banned for over a hundred and fifty years. African-Americans are as free as anyone else.”

“That's–“ Jefferson opened his mouth to speak.

“If the next word out of your mouth is 'outrageous', _I swear to God_ , Thomas Jefferson, that your face will become intimately acquainted with my fist,” Angelica growled.

Jefferson leaned forward. “It is unbecoming of a lady to hit a gentleman,” Jefferson smirked, although it wavered the longer he looked at Angelica.

“It's a good thing you're no gentleman, then, isn't it?” Angelica retorted. “I think you'll find that the world has changed significantly since the eighteenth century.”

“Who _are_ you?” Jefferson tilted his head, sizing Angelica up.

“Angelica Smith, Press Secretary. Formerly Angelica Schuyler Church,” Angelica briefly met Church's scrutinizing stare, nodding at her. “Also very lesbian.”

“'Lesbian'?” Lafayette frowned in bemusement.

Angelica smiled viciously at Jefferson. “It means 'gay'. 'Homosexual'. 'Sodomite'. Whatever you want to call it. Attracted to women only.”

Jefferson flinched away from her, as though burned by an invisible fire. “You are an _abomination_ ,” he hissed.

Unseen by him, Hamilton and Laurens exchanged a heavy look, filled with a thousand things they could never say out loud. Mrs Hamilton did not miss it, but chose not to comment on it – _yet_ , at least. Hopefully, there would be time later for personal business. Time, it suddenly seemed, was all they had. An abundance of time with Alexander. She snorted. What a foreign concept.

Angelica shrugged. “I hate to break it to you, Secretary Jefferson, but only one of us is straight. Attracted only to the opposite gender,” she clarified before anyone could ask. She met Alexander's and Schmidt's eyes, silently asking them for permission. When she got it, she continued, “Alexander's attracted to both men and women, while our beloved Baron von Steuben," at this, Schmidt made an exaggerated bow, made only a little awkward by the fact that he wasn't actually standing up, "prefers gentlemen, as Jefferson so eloquently put it.”

Alexander saw Laurens mutter something into Lafayette's ear, causing Lafayette to snicker uncontrollably.

“That is _disgusting_ ,” Jefferson replied at length.

Alexander rolled his eyes. He spoke before he could have a chance to process his words. “You're an asshole, Jefferson. How John can bear to date you, I have no idea.”

“ _Alexander!_ ” Aaron hissed, kicking his shin. “You can't just out somebody like that!”

Laurens blanched – as, Alexander was amused to note, did Jefferson. “Are you implying what I suspect you are?” Laurens said weakly.

Alexander winced. “Can we go back to how Jefferson was freaking out over being black?”

Aaron was tempted to reply that _hell_ yes _, they could go back to that because it would be immensely satisfying and nobody has ever said that Aaron wasn't petty_ , but one look at Angelica's face told him all that he needed to know. “Can we please talk about something else entirely?”

“Yeah. We can talk about how you apparently opened up an interdimensional portal,” Alexander suggested. “Because I feel like we need to address that at some point.”

“I _didn't_!” Aaron defended himself.

“You said a word, and then a shimmering light popped up,” Alexander pointed out. “You most certainly did _something_.”

“I didn't– I haven't– I don't know what I said,” Aaron explained at length. “I just said something I remembered from my Latin lessons. It wasn't anything _specific_ , just a random curse.”

Alexander scoffed. “Just a random curse? Well, that narrows it down to about _a thousand Roman curses_ ,” he said, laying on the sarcasm as thickly as mayonnaise.

“I _don't know_ which one,” Aaron repeated.

“What about you, Mr Burr?” Alexander addressed Burr, who had hitherto been a little ways away from the main group, trying to attract as little attention to himself as he could. “Do _you_ remember any Latin curses in particular?”

All eyes fell on Burr. Mrs Hamilton, who had been quiet for a while, stared at Burr with a look one could only describe as the epitome of the idiom 'if looks could kill'. She stood up slowly, and walked over to Burr. “You. Shot. My. Husband,” she hissed through gritted teeth, emphasizing each word by clenching her hands into fists, as though holding back from punching Burr only through sheer self-restraint.

Hamilton laughed lightly. “No, Burr would never do that!” he denied. “We're friends. He could never shoot me. Right?” he addressed Burr, who didn't answer. Hamilton's certainty wavered. “Right?” he glanced between his wife and Burr, a tone of pleading creeping into his voice.

Burr looked away. It was answer enough. Jefferson smirked. “I knew you were a treacherous villain, but I did not realize that you had the, one might say _courage_ , to actually go through with your threats.

“Please remain quiet, Mr Jefferson,” Mrs Hamilton said firmly. “You are not much superior to Mr Burr in regards of personal honour, after all,” She then turned to look into Hamilton's eyes. “Yes, he shot you. The man whom you've always seen as a friend shot you _in cold blood_.”

Nobody spoke for a moment. What was there to say? _'I'm sorry I killed you'? 'I didn't mean to'?_

Just as the silence became oppressing, the door was slammed open and in staggered James and Drawwood, hands full of what looked to be almost fifty take-out boxes of various kinds.

“Guess what?” Drawwood smiled, but her smile fell as she took in the room's occupants. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

James emerged from behind her. “What is going–“ he began. His words ground to a halt. “Thomas,” he breathed, for indeed it was Thomas Jefferson – the _original_ Thomas Jefferson, not the reincarnated Thomas Jenkins, in all his redheaded glory – who stood before him.

Jefferson's lips curled up in disgust as he stared down James. “And who might _you_ be?” he glowered, his dismissive tone expressing his opinion of James in a way that words never could.

James turned wordlessly to Alexander. “What the _actual fuck_ ,” he said succinctly.

Alexander nodded commiseratively. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Let's catch you up,” Angelica suggested.

Alexander raised a hand to stall her. “Before we begin, I want _food_. And _coffee_. Lots of coffee.”

* * *

“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” James spoke in a deceptively calm voice once Angelica finished the story. “You witnessed the creation of an interdimensional portal, you met your former selves, and your first thought was to _introduce them to a history textbook_.”

“No, my _first_ thought was to get them to see _Hamilton_ , but that's all the way in New York, and I don't trust them not to get lost there,” Alexander replied shamelessly. “So I went with the next-best thing.”

“ _Are you out of your goddamn mind?!_ ” James exploded.

“The answer to that,” Angelica said, staring contemplatively at a bit of sushi, “is yes.”

Alexander glowered. “I thought my Press Secretary was supposed to defend me, not stoke the burning ire of my opponents.”

“From the press, yes,” Angelica responded. “From your VP? Not in the job description. Trust me – _I checked,_ ” she poked at Alexander with a chopstick.

“I appreciate how loyal my staff is,” Alexander grumbled.

Drawwood snorted. “Unlike yourself, your staff has a sense of self-preservation. Now shut up and eat your pizza.”

Mulligan frowned at the box he was holding. “What _is_ this?” he inquired.

“That's Thai,” Aaron informed him. “Theoretically, it's supposed to be the national cuisine of Thailand, but I have my doubts as to how much American Thai food has to do with _actual_ Thai food.”

“That explains,” Mulligan paused, “absolutely nothing.”

Angelica shrugged. "That's Aaron Burr to you. He'd make a splendid Press Secretary, come to think of it."

Aaron considered glaring at Angelica, but she was right on-point.

“Jeffershit! Jeffershit!” Alexander's parrot cried suddenly, causing not a few people to jump up in alarm.

“Shut up, Adams!” Alexander called across the room.

“I still cannot get over the fact that you named your parrot 'Adams',” James shook his head.

Hamilton stared. “You named your parrot 'Adams'?” he reiterated. “Does his namesake happen to be John Adams?”

“Indeed, the very same one,” Schmidt grinned.

Hamilton visibly struggled to form the question on his mind. “ _Why_?” he said in a desperate voice.

Alexander smirked. “Because I love to tell him to shut up, and because Adams calling Jefferson 'Jeffershit' was too good to pass up.”

James frowned. “Speaking of pets, where is Hamilton?”

Hamilton blinked. “Sir, if you have problems with your eyesight–“

“Not you,” James waved him off. “The cat.”

Lafayette frowned. “ _The cat?_ ” he repeated.

“My foster parents – who, long story short, happen to be the current reincarnation of the Washingtons – took a holiday someplace or other,” Alexander began. “I don't remember exactly where, I tuned them out – but the point is that they left their cat, whom they named Hamilton, after Martha's _original_ cat, in my care. He's here somewhere.”

Laurens blinked. “You are caring for a cat who belongs to your parents, whom they named after their first cat, whom they in turn named after yourself?” he spoke for the first time in a long time.

“After another version of me, but that's about it,” Alexander confirmed.

Silence reigned for a moment as everyone finished their food.

“I remain unconvinced as to your identity,” Jefferson informed James out of the blue. “The James Madison I know would never allow himself to become black.”

James choked on a vegetable. Alexander slapped him helpfully on his back, but James waved him off. Once he got his breathing under control, James turned to Jefferson. “Okay, first off, that was rude, and incredibly racist – and yes, I know that you,” he nodded to Madison, “are lowkey racist too, but I sincerely suggest ridding yourself of that notion. It will help you in your next life, if you will be, as I was, reincarnated as an African-American. Just a piece of useful advice.

“Second,” James pointed back at Jefferson with a plastic fork, “you don't exactly get to choose who you are born as – just as you don't get to choose whom you are attracted to, you also cannot choose the specifics of your birth. I didn't _choose_ to become black. It happened, and there is nothing wrong with having dark skin. It doesn't make you inferior, so get off your high horse,” he finished, taking a deep breath. Only then did he realize that he had become quite passionate in his tirade and had almost been shouting at the end. He stabbed a vegetable with a vengeance, silently wondering whether Jefferson had always been a cretin and he had simply turned a blind eye, or whether this Jefferson was particularly vexatious. As much as he wanted to believe in the latter, the former was looking more likely with every second. “If you still think that you are such a great man, I have two words for you: _Sally Hemings_.”

Jefferson stilled. “I do not understand what my slave has to do with it,” he said, voice deceptively even.

Angelica bit her lip to keep herself from saying something she would later regret. Besides, from what it looked like, James had it all well in hand.

“I think you do,” James replied. “Next to Sally Hemings, Maria Reynolds is nothing.”

This time, it was Hamilton's turn to freeze as his stomach churned unpleasantly. Jefferson frowned. “Maria who?”

James waved his hand. “Never mind,” he sneaked a quick look at Hamilton to confirm his suspicions that that fact hadn't changed in their dimension. “You will find out soon enough, I suppose.”

“And the prize for the best riddle goes to Vice President James Morrow,” Drawwood announced in an anchor voice, dispelling most of the tension that had somehow built up in the room. “Oh, right,” she then turned to Alexander. “I was going to say something, before this whole mess happened. Guess what?” she grinned. “The Senate passed the plan.”

“The financial plan?” Alexander wanted to ascertain before he could get his hopes up.

Drawwood rolled her eyes. “No, the _other_ plan I've been working on for the past six months, leaving Treasury in the questionable hands of Motier,” she said sarcastically. “You know, the crop plan, and the water plan, and the grass plan, and the plan about the thingies that do the thing…” she gesticulated comically with her hands.

Washington frowned. “Pardon me, ma'am, but I do not believe I ever caught your name.”

Drawwood's lips quirked up into a smile. “Not surprising, since I didn't introduce myself. Allison Drawwood, Secretary of the Treasury,” she offered her hand, which Washington shook.

Jefferson sniffed scornfully. “And what would a _woman_ know about the economy?”

Alexander fully expected Angelica – or even Drawwood, for the matter – to take Jefferson up on that challenge, but Aaron beat them both to it. “ _Excuse me_?” he burst out. “I'll have you know that women are _just as_ intelligent as men, if not more. Why _shouldn't_ they be allowed to be in charge of all things men are in charge of?”

“Bartow,” Drawwood scowled, “I can defend myself just fine, especially from ignorant assholes like him,” she indicated Thomas with a sharp toss of her head.

“Drawwood, let him be,” Alexander advised cheerfully. “It's one of the few times I've seen Aaron take a stance on a matter. This is a historic moment.”

Schmidt narrowed his eyes into slits. “You're not going to make a national holiday from this, are you?” he asked with more suspicion than Alexander felt that his statement merited.

Alexander clutched his heart dramatically. “You wound me. Truly. I would _never_ –“

“Actually, you _would_ ,” James cut him off. “And you _have_.”

“I was under the impression that declaring International Women's Day to be a national holiday isn't selfish,” Alexander pouted.

“No, but it _is_ irresponsible.”

“Immature, too,” Drawwood chimed in.

“You're one to talk,” Alexander shot back.

“I've just outargued a hundred senators regarding the most controversial financial reform since your original proposal. I am _entitled_ to be a bit immature.”

“Can we discuss how we are going to return our esteemed guests to their proper time period?” Angelica cut Alexander off.

Alexander frowned. “I don't know if we _can_ ,” he admitted finally.

Angelica rolled her eyes. “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Newton's third law of motion. Nothing is truly irreversible, not even death.”

“You sound like a creepy necromancer.”

“And you're a slut,” Angelica shot back. "You have no room to talk."

“Nah,” Alexander tilted his head. “I'm simply comfortable in my own skin and my sexuality.”

“Stop derailing the discussion,” Angelica ordered. She turned to Aaron. “You need to remember what you said.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Easier said than done.”

“Do you _want_ to have to deal with two Hamiltons? Or two Jeffersons? Or, imagine this – two Hamiltons meeting two Jeffersons?” Angelica challenged.

Aaron shuddered. “On second thought, let's do this.”

* * *

_From: Jemmy_  
Your past self was an asshole.

Thomas frowned at his phone. He turned it to silent and reduced the brightness, as not to wake John up. He typed a response.

 _To: Jemmy_  
yes, I am aware of that fact  
what brought this on?

He hit send and waited. Not ten seconds later, he received a reply.

 _From: Jemmy_  
This is going to sound weird.

 _To: Jemmy_  
our lives are the very definition of weird  
go on

 _From: Jemmy_  
We had the oddest guests today.  
Us.

 _To: Jemmy_  
'us'???

 _From: Jemmy_  
'Us' as in our past selves from the past.  
Well, not OUR past, as Alexander made explicitly clear, but an alternate dimension that closely resembles our own and whose timeline has not progressed as far as ours has.

 _To: Jemmy_  
the sad thing? I believe you  
this wouldn't even be the weirdest thing to have happened this week

 _From: Jemmy_  
Let me guess: Sally Hemings.

Thomas stared at his phone.

 _To: Jemmy_  
HOW

 _From: Jemmy_  
Sarah Harrison, aka Sally Hemings, is a journalist working for the NY Post. She's also one of Alexander's favourite reporters because she is genuinely neutral in her reports, criticizing even an administration she believes in. She never holds back.  
Alexander has had her, as well as her partner, over for dinner several times, and by 'Alexander' I mean that I cooked because whenever Alexander cooks, things tend to catch on fire.

 _To: Jemmy_  
how do you not have a word limit on your texts

 _From: Jemmy_  
One of the perks of holding the second-most important office in the country.  
Are we still on for June 25? I refuse to stand idly by while Alexander puts himself in harm's way by ditching the Secret Service to attend the Parade.  
Honestly, considering the frequency with which Alexander ditches the Secret Service, it’s astounding that he’s only been shot once.

 _To: Jemmy_  
yeah, we're still on  
anyway, I need sleep

 _From: Jemmy_  
So do I. It has been a long day.  
Good night, Thomas.

 _To: Jemmy_  
good night, jemmy

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I'd actually find a use for that lyric. Needless to say, I'm hyped.
> 
> Recommended reading: [Two Jeffersons and an Adams walk into a room](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8234818) by [SSAerial](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SSAerial/pseuds/SSAerial).
> 
> Anyway, reactions. Good? Bad? Too much? Too little?
> 
> To Worldweaver3791: let's play a game called 'spot me quoting one of your comments'.


End file.
